Beneath the gaze of the pale moon, I heard it first—a murmur weaving between cobwebbed treetops, like threads unraveling secrets too heavy for silent night skies.
"Remember us, beneath your blanket of stars," it whispered, pressing against the limits of known tales, seeking a breath amidst the entropy of time's gentle push.
Voices shaped by winds that had travelled millions of years from quiet corners of existence. A supernova's sigh, echoing across the void, asking nothing but remembrance.
In quiet moments, I turned these whispers into letters, an alphabet of stars written in paths unseen, speaking to the ancient silence like a child’s soft plea.